La mejor Radio novela cap.2 - Domitila de chungara

Bolivia was the mouth of America. During the first 150 years of colony, 35 million pounds of fine silver arrived in Seville.

With that enormous wealth, a pure silver bridge could have been built from the summit of the rich hill of Potosí to the same door of the palace of the Spanish kings, on the other side of the immense sea.

Is that true, Domitila? That's what they say. What they don't say is that that bunch of stolen money cost the lives of 8 million miners, of Indians, in the socavones of the rich. 8 million human beings were sacrificed to enslave Europe.

Domitila. La rebeldía de las mineras bolivianas. Capítulo 2. Para esto hicimos la revolución. Cambiaron los tiempos y cambiaron los dueños.

The silver was changed by the tin. The rich Potosi hill was changed by the 20th century mines in Yayagua. Everything changed, except for the wild exploitation of the miners. Nieves, the mother of Domitila, died leaving five orphan girls, still little ones. The last one, newborn.

Como Domitila era la mayor, con sus 10 años tuvo que hacerse cargo de las hermanitas. Tienes que dejar la escuela, Domitila. Pero, papá. Yo tengo que trabajar, hijita. Ustedes son cinco. Ay, si tu madre estuviera. Sí, papá. Yo no puedo con todo. Entendé, mi hijita. Pero...

Domitilla and her sisters lived practically alone. Her father, always working, always absent. Without her mother, life had become sad. Look at this bear! But where is it? It was in the trash outside. Do you like it? It's ugly and dirty. It doesn't have legs, Domi. We'll wash it and it'll be pretty.

was the only toy of his childhood. The revolutionary sects, the nationalist movement and RADEPA, were not minority groups of ambitious and violent people. Down with the thread! Down with the stale men! Long live the MN...

In 1951, the nationalist revolutionary movement MNR had triumphed in the elections. A military council supported by the Barones del Estaño wanted to prevent at all costs that this movement govern Bolivia.

Don't go, daddy.

In April 1952, the Bolivian people rose up in arms against the military junta. The miners of Oruro and Potosí headed the revolution. They took the cities and the barracks. In La Paz, the workers of Milluni, they robbed a train with ammunition and defeated the army. I went every day with my sisters to the shore of the road in Pulacayo, to see if my father would return.

Comrades, comrades, our miners brothers return this afternoon to the casket to receive them.

We've won! We've won! Long live the revolution! Did you hear that? Daddy's coming back! Run! Let's go to the road! Hurry up, sisters! Hey, Domi! Where are you running to? Where are you running to? No, your daddy's not coming! Because the miners have been killed by the soldiers! No! My daddy's not coming!

Ya se escuchaban las bandas. Por la parte alta de las montañas aparecieron los primeros mineros con sus guardatojos brillantes. Al frente, el estandarte del sindicato, las banderas, los dirigentes. Y papá, ¿de dónde hay que llegar? Él dijo que iba a regresar.

The girls got between the legs of the people until they reached where they wanted to and hugged him.

-

It was the first labor revolution in Latin America. The Bolivian people achieved the universal vote, the vote of women, the agrarian reform, the nationalization of the mines. Eight days later, in the midst of thousands of armed miners, the Bolivian Labor Central was founded, the powerful COV. Long live the Bolivian Central! Long live Bolivia!

In all that time, Domitila could not return to school. He was already 15 years old and was responsible for his four sisters. They lived in a very small room, without a patio, without a place for anything, without being able to take care of them to anyone. Domitila, it's time for you to go back to the books, daughter. I'll talk to the director.

Wowas! Get up! Let's go quickly! You bring the notebooks, and you walk to my side quickly.

I'm going to carry you, little girl. Domitila, come. Put the baby here. In this little drawer, she must be fine. With her little mother. Thank you. Thank you, teacher. So two years passed. Then everything changed.

La más chiquita correteaba por el aula y volcaba la tinta de los alumnos mayores. La nueva profesora se molestó mucho. Esto no es una guardería domitina. Pero... Tienen que ir, profesora. Si quieres venir acá, ven sola.

Ezequiel no podía pagar una sirvienta. Su sueldo no alcanzaba para la comida y la ropa de las niñas. En la casa, todas andaban descalzas.

Y era tanto el frío que hacía en Pulacayo que tenían rajadas las manos y los pies. Y si te lavabas la cabeza con agua caliente y luego metías el peine, ya salía hielo del cabello. Yo quiero ir a la escuela, papá. Me puedes sacar de la escuela. Pero hijita, ¿y cómo hacemos? Vamos a dejar a la guaguita en la cocina. Yo voy a venir rápido. Cállese, creo. Voy a venir a ver a papi.

Ay, bueno. En la pared de adobe de la cocina, cavaron un hueco. Hicieron como un corralito y pusieron una tranca para que se quedara la guagua. Domitila echaba llave a la casa y las otras niñas se quedaban en la calle. La vivienda era oscura, como una cárcel, solamente con una puerta. Cada hora, en el recreo, Domitila corría a ver a sus hermanitas.

hasta que un día la guagua tenía la carita sucia toda negra de carbón había salido de la cueva y agarrado restos de comida de la basura mezclada con el carburo que se usa para prender las lámparas vamos al hospital rápido rápido vamos vamos

She was hospitalized, but there was nothing to do. She died. She was three years old. Dad, my little sister died because of me. No, no, daughter. I'm not going to school anymore. I'm going to take care of the wawa here. Maybe, maybe they can leave us. No, daughter. It's important that the woman learns.

I'm going to see your sisters. I'm going to take them to work. You, just go to school, Hawaii. Compadre, compadre Ezequiel. Tell me, comadre. This Emilia, Adomitila, don't you see? Yes. Why are you sending her to school? Just to get along with her lovers? What are you saying, comadre? What do you know about my daughter? These Emilias of now, when they learn to read and write,

No, no, no, no. Yo no hago eso, madrina. Yo no hago eso, me trae.

Compadre, te has hecho mandar con tu hija y eso no está bien. Mira, comadre, yo respeto tu opinión, pero tú también respeta mi forma de pensar, comadre. Yo quiero que mi hija vaya a la escuela. Ay, ¿cómo pues, compadre? Ella tiene que aprender a cocinar, a lavar, a planchar, para ser una buena mujer.

Domitilla

A production of the Rosa Luxemburg Foundation and passionate radio players.